Gathering Darkness: A Paranormal Romance Collection

by Anna Zaires

  “Would you like to dance?” He leans down, yelling into my ear, and I can finally hear him.

  “Absolutely.” I’m about to add his name, but realize that I can’t remember it. Talk about embarrassing. I can’t ask him now. Of course, I can always Split and check his wallet for an ID, so maybe later I’ll do that.

  He’s a great dancer, with a sense of rhythm that I haven’t been lucky enough to run into before. And speaking of lucky, I’ve lucked out in that he’s also just the right amount of grabby. Although, after a song or two, with the buzz from the drink starting to hit my brain, I decide that he’s not grabby enough. I take his hands and stick them on my butt. He, smart guy that he is, gets the point, and from here on out, there’s a lot more touching. He even goes for some ear-nibbling, which I approve of.

  We dance like that for at least ten songs. My legs begin to ache, and my head is spinning. I feel great. I feel as if... well, as if it’s my fucking birthday.

  Another few songs, and I’m grinding against him. He clearly likes it—that or there’s a flashlight in his pocket that I hadn’t noticed before.

  “Do you want to get out of here?” he asks me eventually.

  “Sure.” I give him one last grind—in case there’s any misunderstanding as to where this night is headed. “Let’s go to your place.”

  He’s holding my hand as we start making our way through the crowd, and then, suddenly, he stops.

  He’s staring at the chest of a gargantuan bouncer.

  “Leave,” the bouncer growls. He must have sixty pounds’ worth of lungs alone; I can hear him clearly over all the noise. “She stays.”

  “What’s the problem?” the guy asks.

  “You didn’t hear me?” The bouncer starts rolling up his sleeves—never a good sign. In a Russian nightclub, could be a deadly sign.

  “It’s all right,” I yell at my guy. “I know this man.”

  “You’re with him?” His lips become a thin line. “Why didn’t you tell me you were with someone?”

  I shrug, taking his anger as a compliment. I’d love to tell him the truth, but whatever this shit with the bouncer is about, there’s no reason to bring a civilian into it. Especially a guy who showed me a good time.

  The guy walks away, shaking his head.

  “Upstairs,” the bouncer barks. “This way.” He leads me up the stairs and points to a closed door with a tinted glass window in it. There’s no way I can see what’s waiting for me inside.

  Damn. I shouldn’t have left the gun in my car. Oh well, I think, and open the door.

  “Hello,” Victor says when the bouncer opens the door for me. “We need to talk.”

  Of all the clubs owned by shady people, I clearly chose the worst one.

  And then I realize there’s someone else in the room.

  A man I didn’t expect to see, let alone this soon.

  Shkillet, his face black and blue with the injuries I inflicted, gives me a look that says, “You’re dead now, bitch.”

  CHAPTER 5

  “You have questionable taste in comrades, Victor.” I’m not going to let either of them think they’ve thrown me. Never let them see you sweat—it’s a motto I live by.

  Shkillet’s face reddens, and he reaches for his boot, but stops. “She’s trying to disrespect you,” he whispers to Victor, loudly enough that I can hear.

  “When I want your opinion, Shkillet, I will provide it.” Victor rises from his chair as Shkillet’s red face turns white. “As for you, my lovely friend—” Victor inclines his head toward me, “—there’s a very good reason why he’s here.”

  “And that would be what? You need your toilets licked clean?” I stare at Shkillet, not backing down from the threat I see in his eyes.

  “You whore.” Shkillet’s fingers twitch, likely itching to get to that knife. I know; I’ve felt that same hatred myself. Thankfully, he elects to spit on the ground instead of trying to skewer me.

  “Spit on my floor again, and you’ll be licking it off, Shkillet, understand? Also don’t speak again until I say you can.” If looks actually could kill, Victor’s would’ve already murdered Shkillet ten times over. “Do I make myself clear?”

  Shkillet nods, and I can tell it’s killing him to do so.

  Victor glares at him. “Say it.”

  Shkillet exhales. “I’ll wait for you to ask me to speak, Victor.” It sounds as if the words are being pulled from him.

  “Now.” Victor tugs his sleeves down. “As I was saying, there is a reason he’s here, and it’s because an accusation has been made.”

  “An accusation?” I try not to sound challenging—a task I, admittedly, have trouble with on occasion.

  “Our comrade here told me some disturbing things about you.” Victor leans against a table, arms crossed. “He claims that you work with the cops as a snitch, or worse, that you’re a cop yourself.”

  “What?” I didn’t expect that, and I don’t have any clever, or even dumb, comebacks for him. “What are you talking about?”

  “He said you’d deny it.” Victor picks up a shot glass that’s been standing on his desk and downs the contents in one gulp. “But his story is rather persuasive, so I figured we should talk.”

  This is bad. If Victor really believes this, I’m as good as dead. He wouldn’t threaten a cop and let her live. Then again, if he truly believed I was a cop, given what I know of Victor, I would already be dead. I debate Splitting and Reading him to figure out what’s what, but decide against it. After yesterday, my Depth is fairly low, even if some was recovered in the twenty-four hours that have passed. Still, if I overuse it, I’ll go Inert and be unable to Split for many days.

  “I’m not a cop.” I start to fold my arms in front of my chest, realize it’s a defensive gesture, and run my hands through my hair instead. “That’s a ridiculous notion that only that syphilitic excuse for a brain could’ve come up with—”

  “Suka.” The Russian insult comes out of Shkillet with a snarl.

  “I thought I told you to shut it.” Victor points one threatening finger at Shkillet. “It’s not that ridiculous, my dear. He says cops—your colleagues—did that to his face.”

  “Cops didn’t do it. I did.”

  “I wasn’t done.” Now I’m the recipient of Victor’s threatening finger. “What he said is just a piece of the puzzle, you see. After that last game yesterday, I asked around.”

  “And?” I ask, not liking where this is going.

  “And you do have a tendency to... How should I put this delicately? To ask some odd questions during pillow talk.”

  Shkillet sneers, and I try not to blush. It’s true that I’ve slept with a few gangsters. No one too monstrous, mind you, but definitely bad boys. I didn’t do it just to get information, though. I was attracted to them—though I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse. Yeah, I did end up asking about explosion experts when a good moment presented itself, and if it just happened to be post-coitus... Well, that’s when most men seem to let their guard down.

  “I’m just interested in certain things.” I shrug. “Maybe I’m looking for someone to do a job for me. To settle a score. That doesn’t make me a cop.”

  Victor stares at me. I meet his gaze. I’m determined not to show any weakness. And right now, my knees are feeling pretty weak. I don’t know what Victor has up his proverbial sleeve, and I don’t know where he’s going with this. I do much better when I have all the information.

  “There’s also the matter of your name. You claim it’s Ilona, but we both know that you also go by Mira and Yulia and a bunch of others.”

  Crap. Where did he get that from? I thought I’d covered my tracks well. Changing my name was actually for my brother’s sake, the going theory being that whoever killed Dad, if controlled by a Pusher, would want Eugene dead as well. But I can’t exactly tell Victor that.

  “I win large sums of money.” I think really hard and really quickly, something I’ve learned to be good at. “Not just f
rom you, but other legal venues as well. You can check with your people in Vegas. Given that, I think it’s only natural for me to want to retain some anonymity.”

  “I can see that. To a point.” Victor takes a big bottle of vodka and refills his shot glass. “But you must see how, bundled together, this doesn’t look good.”

  “No, I don’t agree.” I shift my weight from one foot to another. “I’d make the worst, most conspicuous undercover cop in the history of undercover work. I mean, I’m usually the only woman at those games. I stick out like a sore thumb.”

  “She has a point there.” Victor waves his shot glass in Shkillet’s direction. “Even if I’d use a prettier metaphor to describe her.”

  “Why are you even listening to her?” Shkillet says in frustration. “She’ll say anything to get out of here with her head still attached.”

  “Because something more is going on here.” Victor downs the shot he’s been holding. “And I find this one rather interesting.”

  “Then let me make her talk.” Shkillet takes his knife out, his hands practically shaking with eagerness. “Two minutes, and she’ll admit that she’s a cop, just like I say she is.”

  “We’ll talk about you sneaking a weapon into this establishment in a moment.” Victor gives him a furious look. “First, I want to point something out to you. I ask the questions. I don’t need your help. I’m a good judge of people, and I know she’s hiding something. But I also think you’re not telling everything.”

  “Oh, he’s hiding things from you,” I say, deciding to escalate matters.

  “Is that so?” Victor raises his eyebrows, as if I can’t possibly know what I’m talking about. “What would he dare hide?”

  “The fact that it was me who fucked up his face, as I was trying to explain earlier,” I say. “And that’s just for starters.”

  “That’s a lie.” Shkillet’s knuckles whiten around the hilt of his knife. “It was the cops.”

  “Also, he’s hiding the fact that he’s disrespected you.” I ignore Shkillet’s denial. “He’s said things behind your back.”

  “Before you go further, my dear Ilona—” Victor holds up his hand, “—you should know that I won’t treat a baseless accusation like that lightly.”

  “Baseless accusation, like calling me a cop?” I narrow my eyes at Victor. “How’s this? He said he fucked your mistress. Though I think he actually raped her, because what woman in her right—”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” Shkillet growls, but shuts up when he looks at Victor.

  I see why. Victor’s face darkens, and it’s scary to see, especially since it’s most likely me, not Shkillet that he’s angry at.

  Without a word, Victor reaches into his desk, pulls out a gun, and places it on the desk with a loud clink of metal on glass. “I think you didn’t understand me when I said I wouldn’t take to this sort of shit lightly.”

  I nod. “I understood. But did he?” I point to Shkillet.

  “You’re a cop,” Shkillet shouts. “And I sure as hell didn’t go near Victor’s lady.”

  “Oh really?” I say. “Then how would I know her name is Vera, if not from you?”

  “You’re a cop.” Shkillet moves the knife from one hand to another, nervously.

  “And how about the fact that she has a tattoo on her back of the Madonna holding the baby Jesus? The tattoo with a face you wanted to come all over?” I say. “Do I know that also because I’m a cop? Because you told my ‘colleagues’ that when they beat you up? How about the claim you made that she has a muscular back with dimples and a mole on her right shoulder? You’re trying to say that it was some other fucking rapist who told people that?”

  Victor’s face is the most frightening thing I’ve seen in a long time. Shkillet sees it, he sees Victor reach for the gun, and he completely flips out, lunging at me with the knife.

  Now I Split—no point in having leftover Depth if I’m dead.

  In the Mind Dimension, I walk over to Shkillet so I can Read him to verify his intent. As I suspected, he knows he’s a dead man and wants to make sure he takes me down with him.

  Fuck. I overdid it with him. I didn’t think he’d go for the kamikaze thing. At least he made me look honest, which means Victor will probably not only kill him, but do it slowly. Still, if Shkillet kills me first, his destiny will be only a small consolation for me.

  I look at Victor. He’s still angry, but confused, too. He didn’t expect Shkillet to do what he did either. Like me, he probably didn’t think the man had the balls for it.

  I look at the path of Shkillet’s body and the knife. I try my best to project it another foot, to where my frozen self is. I now know what I have to do.

  Somewhat encouraged, I get out of the Mind Dimension.

  As soon as my consciousness is back in my body, I begin to twist myself just the right way and step aside, hoping I didn’t miscalculate.

  Shkillet’s knife swooshes through the air an inch from my neck.

  I didn’t miscalculate, thank God.

  Shkillet comes to a dead stop, his beady eyes wide with shock. He can’t believe I escaped his attack.

  I see a blur of movement so I Split again.

  Shit. He recovered too quickly. He’s frozen in the process of making a wide swing at me. Unless I do something, he’s going to disembowel me with that knife.

  I look at Victor. In the few moments that have passed, he’s grabbed the gun from his desk. But even if it’s my opponent rather than me that Victor intends to shoot, it’ll take too long for him to complete that movement, let alone aim the gun and fire it at Shkillet.

  Besides, if he did that, there’s no telling whether he’d shoot the wrong person—namely, me—given how close I’m standing to Shkillet. I decide against Reading Victor to see who he’s going to aim that gun at. I have no Depth to waste on questions where the answer won’t help the situation at hand. Instead, I Split back.

  Even before my mind is back in my body, I begin mentally playing out a maneuver that I can best describe as a hula-hoop move. I try to do it over and over, to make sure it’s the first and only thing that my body does when it gets the mind back. My body moves in the desired motion, but not fast enough, and I feel a burning pain in my side.

  A pain that makes me involuntarily Split again.

  Please, God, don’t let me see myself dying. I turn to look at my frozen body in the Mind Dimension.

  I’m in luck. Even though the hula-hoop move wasn’t entirely successful, it did get me far enough out of the knife’s path. Shkillet only grazed my side. And now he’s off-balance.

  I Split and get back to real time with a whirling kick to Shkillet’s balls, a move I’ve done many times since starting my investigation. Nothing stops a man as quickly as a hit in that vulnerable place, and no man has ever deserved it more than Shkillet.

  As my foot connects, Shkillet squeals loudly and grabs his damaged family jewels. Remembering Victor’s unfinished vodka bottle, I grab it, determined to bring it down on Shkillet’s head. But before I can, a shot rings out.

  My heart feels like it’s going to jump out of my ribcage as the room goes silent.

  I automatically Split again and look around. My real body doesn’t look like it’s been shot. There’s some more blood flowing from where Shkillet’s knife grazed me, but that’s it. When I glance at Victor’s gun, I can’t tell where he’s pointing it because the air around the barrel is filled with smoke.

  When I turn toward Shkillet, however, I see that the right side of his skull is flying away, with bits of blood and brain matter frozen in the air. So that’s where Victor was aiming. And what’s more, there’s another bullet frozen midway on its trajectory toward Shkillet’s chest.

  Exhaling in relief, I decide to spend a few more precious moments of my Depth to Read Victor’s intentions. If he’s planning to shoot me, I want to know about it, even if there’s not much I can do to stop him. Then again, maybe I’ll throw that vodka bottle at him—g
et one last shot in before I go.

  Inside Victor’s head, I experience rage mixed with awe mixed with confusion. It’s impossible to tell what he’ll do for sure, so I leave the Mind Dimension and get ready to face whatever is in store for me.

  Victor looks at Shkillet’s bleeding body, then looks at me, the gun pointing at me for a brief, heart-pounding moment, but then he slowly lowers the weapon.

  A bouncer rushes into the room. “What the fuck, boss? Your glass door is not that soundproof. If I heard it outside, anyone on the dance floor could’ve, too.”

  “We’ll need some private cleaning in here.” Victor puts his gun down on the table. “And as for the noise, tell the DJ to make up an excuse about a problem with his equipment. Also tell him to announce a half hour of open bar, starting now.”

  “Got it.” The bouncer exhales and rolls his shoulders as he heads out the door. “That’ll work, especially the second part.”

  “I’m not sure what just happened,” Victor says when the bouncer leaves. “What you said about Vera was accurate, and only someone who’s seen her naked would know those things. But something doesn’t ring true because I have a hard time believing he’d dare.” Victor waves toward what’s left of Shkillet, and shakes his head. “Still, I did underestimate the little creep tonight. I ought to put on his tombstone: ‘Shkillet, the underestimated.’”

  “I’d make that ‘Shkillet, the underestimated rapist.’” I give the dead body a shove with my foot.

  “I don’t know about that part.” Victor extends his hand for the bottle I’m still holding.

  “Believe what you want.” I hand him the bottle. “Ask around. He was a rapist.”

  “But did he do that to Vera?” Victor frowns, pouring himself another shot. “That’s what I have trouble with. Wouldn’t she have told me?”

  “She was probably ashamed. It happens a lot with rape victims. All I can say is, if he didn’t, he sure lied about it. Just like he lied about me being a cop.”